


May 2000

by helsinkibaby



Series: The Pieces of my Life [12]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The President is shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May 2000

It is May 2000, and Greg is kicking back at home, not looking forward to going into work, is leaving heading to the lab for the last possible moment, even though he knows that he could stand to go in earlier, and probably should. The DNA lab is more backlogged than he can ever remember it, with both Ecklie and Brass, the day and graveyard shift supervisors, telling him that their cases take priority. It's a nasty political mess, and it only gets worse when you consider that Brass's top criminalist, Gil Grissom, is also clashing with Ecklie, and also with Brass. Greg's not stupid, he can see the upcoming blood on the walls, and he doesn't relish getting caught in the crossfire, though he knows that it's inevitable that one of the lab techs, if not more, surely will.

It is just half past six in the evening, and he's just finished dinner. Nothing complicated, microwave mac and cheese, the food of kings, and the biggest decision on his mind right now is whether to do the washing up before or after he grabs a cup of coffee and reads the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. Of course, he knows that if he does that, he'll likely forget to do the washing at all, and then when John gets home, he'll bitch and moan about having to do Greg's cleaning as well as his own - it's a scenario that's played itself out innumerable times since their Stanford undergrad days, and Greg doesn't see it changing any time in the near or distant future.

It's not even a choice really; when it comes to coffee and Sports Illustrated, or the washing up, well, washing up is going to lose every time, and so at a quarter to seven, when the phone rings, he's sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, music blaring from the speakers on the wall.

The music is loud enough that he can barely hear the phone, ends up lunging for it, nearly spilling his coffee in his haste to put it down on the table. With one hand, he holds the phone up to his ear, with the other, he reaches for the stereo remote, punches the volume down a couple of notches. He repeats "Hello," a couple of times, just in case it's someone important, though knowing his luck, it's going to be Brass, calling him in to work early.

It's not Brass though, because Brass would never ask, "Are you watching tv?"

"No man," Greg says, laughing and relaxing, because it's not Brass, it's John, and somewhere in the back of his mind, it registers that John sounds different somehow, not stressed, like he sometime sounds when he calls from work, but worried, almost fearful. "Just finishing dinner, listening to some tunes…"

"Turn on the tv Greg."

It's not that John never interrupts him; in fact, he does it frequently. But he's never done it in that tone of voice, the tone of an order being barked out, and the shock of the sound moves the niggling suspicion of John's emotional state from the back to the front of Greg's mind.

"Why?" he asks, scared himself now, already reaching for the television remote, which of course, he can't find. He's scrabbling around, looking under cushions and yesterday’s newspapers and a half-eaten packet of biscuits, and that's when he hears John make a noise of pure impatience.

"Just turn it on."

"What channel?" Greg asks, when he finally finds the remote nestled in the pages of -of course- TV Guide.

"It doesn't matter," John replies tersely, and Greg's about to question that when he manages to turn on the television and sees what's happening there.

A news ticker runs across the bottom of the screen, Paula Francis behind the desk, looking like the walking dead. But it's the picture on the top right hand corner of the screen, the words super-imposed over it, that dries up all the moisture in Greg's throat, while simultaneously making all the air in the room evaporate.

A picture of a smiling President Josiah Bartlet, the words "Shots fired" underneath it.

"Jesus…" Greg breathes, and the voice doesn't sound a thing like his own. "When?"

"A few minutes ago," John tells him. "He was at some kind of event, someone shot at them as they were leaving… they don't know too much yet..."

His friend is talking, and Paula Francis is talking, but Greg can't hear either of them clearly, is a prisoner to his feverish thoughts. "Ellie…" is the first, the name repeating over and over, bouncing around his brain, unleashing a thousand memories, all of which fade into the background when tape starts rolling, shots of the President and his entourage, some faces that Greg recognises, exiting a large stone building, smiling, waving at the crowd. He sees President Bartlet shaking hands, then there's the sound of gunfire, the camera tilts, starts moving back and forth as if an NYPD Blue cameraman was being particularly avant-garde. Then there is only screaming and chaos, and Greg has to close his eyes, because he can't look at that.

It's then that a second thought enters his mind, bringing with it a cool breeze of sanity. "Baltimore… she's in Baltimore, at John's Hopkins, you talked to her yesterday…" She'd mentioned something then about a killer class that she had the next day, how she was going to be up all night completing her reading. He'd made a joke about how she should skip it, and she'd laughed, telling him that she couldn't afford to.

There was no way she would have made the trip to Washington.

With that, Greg finds he can breathe a little easier, that his heart isn’t racing quite as quickly.

So he can hear see quite clearly Paula Francis pause in mid-sentence, put her hand up to her ear, as if her producer is talking into it. He can see her freeze momentarily, swallow hard before turning unblinking eyes to the camera. Greg has a nasty feeling that he’s not going to like what comes next and finds himself holding his breath, so he can hear her twice as clearly when she says, "We are receiving unconfirmed reports that the President is currently being brought to George Washington hospital to be treated for a gunshot wound… we have no word at this time as to the location of the wound, or how serious it is… I repeat, we are being told that the President is on his way to George Washington hospital…"

"You heard that update?" John's voice breaks through Greg's thoughts, and he nods dumbly.

"Shit," is his most coherent thought, and he's doing well at that.

"And the horse it rode in on," John mutters. "Look, I'm gonna let you go… tell her I'm thinking of her, ok?"

"Sure thing." The line goes dead then, and Greg's grateful for John's words, because they've told him what he should do now. Numb fingers working surprisingly well, he dials a Baltimore number that he knows by heart, isn't surprised in the least when he hears her familiar voice on the answering machine.

"Ell, it's me," he says, and he's surprised at how normal his voice sounds. "Look, I know that the Secret Service have probably transported you to Alaska or somewhere safe like that, and I don't know when you're going to get this… but I just wanted to talk to you. So… I'll keep trying. OK? Take care of yourself… oh, and John says hi."

He hangs up then, waits for Ellie to call him back, though he's not expecting a call anytime soon. Still, he stays on the couch, and he watches the news, and he's there when it's confirmed that the President was shot, and that it doesn't look as if it's life-threatening. He's there when Paula once more puts her hand up to her ear, says that she's receiving reports that a Bartlet Senior Staffer, Josh Lyman, was also shot and is on his way to hospital. The name jogs something in his memory, but he can't put a face to it, just remembers boundless energy and a mass of curly hair, but when the picture comes up, he remembers him clearly, remembers how frazzled he got as Election Day neared, remembers him waltzing his assistant, a pretty blonde called Donna, around the victory party as the Doobie Brothers played on the stereo.

He hadn't known Josh well, hadn't talked to him much, but what he'd known he'd liked, and when he hears how serious his injury is, it's the first time since John's phone call that Greg leaves the couch.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

He's not sure how long he's there, but when he comes back out, there are no new updates on the ticker, and he picks up his cup of coffee, now cold, and walks to the kitchen, pours it down the sink. Rinsing out the cup, he fills it with water, rinses out his mouth, then leaves it, along with the dinner dishes, in the sink.

This time, he thinks John will understand.

He crosses to the couch again, this time, a man on a mission, and he takes the phone in his hand, making two calls. The first is a quick one, the second takes longer, and that much done, he makes his way to his room, checking the clock as he goes. It's going to be tight, he knows, but he's just about got enough time to do what needs to be done.

 

>*<*>*<

It is just after half past ten at night when Greg walks into Brass's office, and officially, he knows he should be in DNA lab, doing what DNA mad scientists do.

He also knows that in Washington and Baltimore, it is just after half past one in the morning. He knows that there's some brouhaha brewing about a letter that wasn't signed, which is something he doesn't understand, and he knows that the President is doing well, and that Josh Lyman is still in surgery, is likely to be so for many more hours. He knows that there are vigils outside the hospital and White House, knows that there's a massive manhunt underway, that Washington is one big gridlock tonight, no-one getting in or out.

But that's ok with him, because he doesn’t want to get to Washington.

Not when he knows that there's a woman in Baltimore scared out of her mind, who is doing what he was doing an hour ago, sitting in front of her television, looking for updates, not answering her phone, even to her closest friends.

Greg knows where he has to be, and the DNA lab isn't even close.

He holds that knowledge to his heart, guards it closely, and it's that knowledge which gives him the courage to stand up straight in front of Brass when the older man is staring at him with a more than slightly disgusted look on his face.

"This about the Gray case?" he demands, and Greg shakes his head.

"I need some time off," he says simply, figuring that it's better to take the bull by the horns. When Brass looks up at him though, his pen slamming down hard on the table, Greg wonders the wisdom of that philosophy.

"What?"

It's an invitation to recant, one that Greg declines. "I need some time off… there's something-"

"Some time off?" Brass echoes, cutting him off. "Have you seen the backlog in the lab? Do you know how much there is riding on the work we do, and you want to take time off? What-"

"Captain, I wouldn't ask." Greg has never in his life cut off Brass; very few people have when the man is in full flow, and maybe it's that that aids his cause, because Brass stops, stares up at him. "I wouldn't ask," he repeats. "But it's an emergency." He throws in his most winning smile for good measure.

"An emergency." Brass is sceptical. "Involving a female I take it?"

Greg looks down, for once damning his reputation as a ladies' man. "Kind of," he admits, falling back on that other old cliché, that honesty is the best policy. "A friend of mine… she got some bad news, and I was hoping…"

"Bad news?"

Greg sighs, thinks about how to finesse this particular part, because he knows if he comes out with a story about knowing the President's daughter, Brass will kick him out of his office, probably literally. "Her father was shot," he says, settling for a half-truth. "And she's pretty freaked out about it." Which she surely was, even if he hadn't been able to talk to her to confirm it. "So I need to go to Baltimore."

Brass looks at him, stares him down, and Greg doesn't blink. Finally, Brass opens his desk drawer, takes out a sheet of paper, writes something on it. Greg frowns, not knowing what the man is doing until he holds out the sheet of paper across the table, handing it to him.

The title reads "Leave of Absence Request Form."

Under "Reason", in Brass's handwriting, are the words, "Family Emergency."

Greg reads both several times, just to be sure he's not imagining it, and when he looks up again, there's a huge smile on his face. "Fill this in," Brass says, handing across a pen. "And go."

Greg rips the pen from his hand, sits down on the chair across from Brass and starts writing. "Thank you Captain," he says as he writes, because he didn't expect it to be this easy, and there's a disgusted noise from across the table.

"Just don't spread it around," he's told, and he grins, more to himself than Brass, and promises that he won't.

>*<*>*<

The flight seems to take an age, and even at this early hour in the morning, there's a queue for cabs, so the sky is already turning a light shade of blue by the time Greg arrives at Ellie's apartment complex. Hoisting his bag on to his shoulder, he walks up the steps to the front door, isn't really surprised when a tall, imposing man in a black suit and tie meets him there. "May I help you?" he asks and Greg shifts on his feet, momentarily flustered.

"I'm here to see Ellie," he says, smiling nervously. The man's face doesn’t change, and Greg swallows. "Eleanor Bartlet," he continues, adding, "I'm a friend," for good measure.

The man doesn't blink. "Is she expecting you?"

"Ah… no…" Greg frowns. "Is that going to be a problem? Because I just got a plane and came here, I didn't call ahead, she doesn't even know I'm coming, but I saw the news and I wanted to be here and…"

He's saved from any further explanation when the door opens, and a woman comes out. Unlike her counterpart, she's not dressed in traditional Secret Service attire, instead in an over-sized sweatshirt and faded blue jeans. "Problem, Mac?" she asks, and Greg is grinning again, because he knows this woman, and she smiles too when her eyes fall on him. "Greg, right?"

Greg is nodding, even as Mac asks, "You know this kid?"

"Friend of Ellie's," the woman confirms. "I take it she doesn't know you're coming?"

"I called… but she didn't answer. Hi Molly."

Molly O'Connor's face, which had shown good humour, falls, and she doesn't even acknowledge his greeting. "She’s not answering any calls, from anyone… she hasn't slept either. I think you're going to be just what she needs. Come on up."

Mac looks like he wants to protest, but Molly silences him with a look. "How is she?" Greg asks as she leads him up the stairs to the third floor. "Really?"

Molly shakes her head. "This is the first time I've left her since we got the call," she tells him. "She hasn't slept, hasn't eaten… she hasn't even cried. I'm worried about her."

"Who's with her now?"

"New agent… new since your time anyway. Angie Baker." She looks over at Greg, catches his eye and grins. "Don't worry though… we'll give you some time alone." Her tone is knowing, and Greg feels a blush rising up his cheeks, but he can't tell her that she's wrong.

It seems like forever before they reaches Ellie's door, and Molly knocks smartly, calls out, "It's me." A few seconds that seem like hours later, the door is opened by a woman the same height as Greg, who looks just as worried as Molly, her short dark hair ruffled as if she's been running her hands through it. When her gaze falls on Greg, she looks suspicious, turns a questioning gaze on Molly, who nods in reassurance.

"It's ok," she says, stepping past her into the apartment. "I'll explain in a minute." Then, raising her voice, she calls out, "Visitor for you."

She walks further into the apartment, Greg following her, and his heart breaks when he sees a forlorn figure curled up in a ball on the couch, staring at the television screen. He recognises some of the same images he saw back in his apartment in Vegas, and knows that she's been here like this all this time.

"I don't want visitors," she spits out, her voice broken and scratchy, and Molly turns her head, looks pointedly at Greg.

He takes the hint, drops his bag at his side. "Not even me?" he asks softly.

The reaction is instant, Ellie’s head turning so quickly that Greg's sure she must have wrenched her neck. She stares at him, eyes wide, as if he's some kind of apparition, and he nods once, to let her know that it really is him, that he really is here.

"Greg?" she chokes out, and he can't take his eyes off her, just as she can't take her eyes off him. Her eyes though, are the ones that fill with tears, and it's she who stands up, more than a little shakily, moving towards him. He'd dimly aware of Molly moving away from them, of the door closing behind them, but he's still not looking away from Ellie.

And then she's in his arms, and he's not thinking of anything but her.

>*<*>*<

Ellie knows exactly how long she's been sitting here like this, because she's been staring at the clock on the corner of the television screen, and she's the daughter of a cardio-thoracic surgeon and a Nobel Laureate in Economics. Mathematics was always one of her strongest subjects, and she can add and subtract time in her head with the greatest of ease. She knows how many hours and minute she's been here, but on the other hand, it feels like no time has gone by at all.

Certainly, her fear hasn't diminished one whit.

She knows that her father is going to be fine, because her mother called her and told her so, or at least left that message on her machine. Liz and Zoey have both called as well, and so had Mrs Landingham, wanting to know how she is, but she hasn't talked to anyone, because she's not so sure she can. She hasn't spoken since her apartment door flew open, Secret Service agents taking up position all around her, scaring the life out of Carrie and Melissa, who were here studying with her, both of whom were escorted out of the complex and home some thirty minutes later.

She also knows that if her father is going to be fine, then Josh Lyman's fate is still hanging in the balance, and there is no further word from her answering machine on that.

What she knows most of all is that this time, they were lucky that there were no fatalities, either on the staff or among the crowd. One woman injured, the head of her father's Secret Service detail, Ron Butterfield, shot in the hand, but both will recover, will do so quickly. All things considered, they were lucky, but next time, they might not be, and that's the thought that scares her more than anything.

She ignores the Secret Service walking around, especially ignores Molly with her older sister type worry, batting aside the agent's offer of food and drink, telling her that she should go to bed, she should get some sleep. Ellie knows she won't sleep tonight, doesn't know if she'll ever sleep again, can't imagine it somehow.

Thankfully, Angie's not so concerned about her welfare, or at least, she's content to leave her alone, thus Ellie is concentrating hard on CJ's latest briefing when there's a knock on the door. She barely pays any attention to it, not even when she hears Molly calling out to announce that it's her. Only when Molly's voice comes closer does Ellie pay attention, especially when she hears that she has a visitor, but she doesn’t look around when she says that she doesn't want visitors.

She expects Molly to reply, would never have expected the next voice in a million years.

"Not even me?"

Her heart stops, then lurches painfully back to life as she considers the idea that lack of sleep, fear and worry have combined to send her mad, because there's no way that he can be here. She entertains such thought only for the briefest of moments before her head whips around and she sees him, looking just like she remembers him - baggy jeans and one of his trademark brightly patterned shirts, hair sticking up all over the place. The only difference between him in her living room and him in her dreams is that in her living room, he's not smiling. Instead, his eyes are dark and worried, his face tired as he nods once at her.

"Greg?" she whispers, very afraid that her eyes are playing tricks on her, and she's standing up on shaky legs, taking a tentative step towards him. He doesn't move, she can see that through her tears, and somewhere in the background, a door closes, and she knows that Molly and Angie have left them alone.

And then, with no clear memory of doing it, she runs to him, throws her arms around his neck and holds on tightly.

>*<*>*<

She doesn't know how long they stay like that, but it seems like a very long time before she lifts her head from his shoulder, stares at him in wonder, shakes her head. "What are you doing here?" she asks in amazement, and he shrugs his shoulders, giving her that cocky grin that she remembers so well.

"Where else would I be?" he asks simply, moving his hands up to cup her cheek, pushing her hair back from her face. She wants to smile, but there's a sob in her throat which will be let loose if she does, so she just stares at him. "I got the first plane I could," he continues, hands still moving through her hair, and she closes her eyes at his touch.

"How long can you stay?" she whispers, keeping her eyes shut, because she's not sure she wants to know the answer, sure that it won't be "Forever" which is the only one she wants to hear.

"As long as you want," he says, which still wasn't the answer she was expecting, or anywhere near it. Her eyes fly open in shock, and he's got that grin still on his face. "Brass gave me a week's leave of absence," he tells her. "Family emergency. But however long you want me Ellie… I'm here."

Tears make their way down her cheeks, but she is smiling, and she wraps her arms around his neck again, steps into him. "Does forever work for you?" she asks, and she feels him chuckle.

"Sounds good to me."

>*<*>*<

Greg, Ellie soon finds, is a harder person to ignore than Molly or Angie. When she finally lets him go, leads him to the sofa, she sits down while he remains standing, looking down at her. "You look like hell you know," he tells her, and she laughs out loud at that.

"Your lines haven't gotten any better since college," she teases, but he's all serious.

"You probably haven't eaten since last night," he decides, and the way in which he says it makes her think that Molly might have been telling tales out of school. She opens her mouth to refute the charge, though she knows she's about to lie to him, but he's already moving away, towards the kitchen unit, throwing back as he walks all the recipes that he can make quickly, a list that gets cut short when he opens up her refrigerator and sees what's inside there, a sight that doesn't meet with his approval.

She quickly remembers something that it's easy to forget about Greg, that when in a room with him, it's entirely possible not to have to participate in the conversation at all. So while she listens to him decry the contents of her cupboards, then start in on the hell-world that is a nocturnal journey from Las Vegas to Baltimore, she makes herself comfortable on the couch, lying down and stretching her legs, muting the sound on the television set whilst keeping one eye on the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.

The next thing she knows, there is a hand moving through her hair, and when she tries to open her eyes, she feels as if they've been glued shut. She considers asking Greg if he'd done that - she certainly wouldn't put it past him - but decides against it when she opens her eyes to find herself looking into his, which are full of concern, set in a face that's lined with concern. So instead, she gives voice to her second thought, which is one of amazement. "I fell asleep?"

She struggles to sit up, but his hand moves quickly from her hair to her shoulder, presses her down. "Take your time," he tells her, and she does as she's told, closing her eyes for another long moment and taking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His hand moves back to her hair, plays with it gently, and she smiles despite herself, continuing to breathe deeply. "This is familiar," Greg says, a smile in his voice, and Ellie grins too, reminded of the lazy mornings that the two of them would be found like this, lying in bed together, completely silent, each knowing exactly what was in the other's mind.

She opens her eyes, this time focussing on him properly, seeing that he's squatting down beside her, his face now clearer than it was seconds ago. "I remember," she replies quietly, reaching up to catch his hand, bringing it to her lips.

Their eyes meet, and there's another moment of silence before he lifts their joined hands, brings them to his lips. "I hated to wake you," he says, and she knows that it's true, because he always did. "And I hate even more to disturb you now… but food." He shifts slightly to allow her to see the coffee table, the two plates of steaming scrambled eggs, a third piled high with toast. Behind that, there are two cups of tea, and she realises it's a measure of how worried Greg must be about her that he hasn't started ranting about the lack of coffee in this apartment. Though maybe he has and she slept through it.

"I'm not hungry," she protests, as he swings her legs down to the floor, reaches over to the table and picks up a plate in either hand, handing one to her. "Really Greg..."

"Just a couple of bites," he says, reaching over to her plate, taking up a forkful of eggs and holding it up to her lips, which stay stubbornly closed. A devilish glint comes into his eyes as he pulls the spoon back, holds it in mid-air. "You want me to make the train noise?" he asks, and she lifts one eyebrow, daring him to do it. He sighs, shrugging exaggeratedly. "OK then…" he says, before launching into the loudest train noise she's ever heard in her life, moving the spoon towards her lips, just as she used to do for Annie when she was a baby.

He looks so serious when he's doing it, yet the whole scene is so ridiculous that all Ellie can do is laugh, which of course is what he was hoping for, because he takes advantage of her open mouth by popping the forkful of eggs in. She chews and swallows despite herself, shakes her head when he's done. "You're impossible," she declares and he shrugs again, dropping the fork on her plate.

"That's why you love me," he tells her airily, and she lifts her eyebrow again.

"No comment." But she lifts up the fork, takes a few more bites before he reaches over, drops a slice of toast on her plate.

"To keep your strength up," he tells her, and she shakes her head, this time, saying nothing.

They don't speak again until their plates are both empty and all the toast is gone, and then he takes her plate, puts it on the table with his, hands her her cup of tea. "Aren't you going to complain that I've no coffee here?" Ellie teases, receiving, for her troubles, a narrow-eyed stare.

"Don't start me," she is told, and she snickers, taking a sip of tea.

This time, the silence stretches beyond both of them finishing their drinks. Once again when she is finished, he takes her cup from her, lays it down on the table, and when he sits back again, he puts his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him. Her head finds its usual resting place on his shoulder, as if it hasn't been months, if not years, since they've sat together like this, her hand resting on his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt. He leans his head on top of hers, his fingers moving through her hair, and if she tries very, very hard, she can almost forget what's brought them here.

Almost.

She doesn't realise she's crying until her breath catches, and immediately thereafter, the first drop of water hits his shirt. His fingers still in her hair for just a second, then start their movement again, and he takes a deep breath. "You ok babe?"

His voice is soft, and the casual endearment is good for another swell of emotion. "No," she admits, and his arms tighten around her. "They shot my daddy Greg."

"I know."

She is sobbing now, which she hasn't done, not when she first heard the news, not during those long hours sitting on her couch alone, staring at the television. "I know we're not close…" she manages to say, and she feels him nodding.

"I know," he says quietly. "That's the problem."

Too late she remembers that this is Greg she's talking to, the man who knows her as well as she knows herself, and she knows that he speaks the truth. Because she knows her father could have died, and she can't stand the thought that that could happen without them sorting out their differences. She'd always thought that they had time, plenty of time, even after he'd been diagnosed with his illness, but that assumption had been ripped to shreds with one blast of a sniper's weapon.

So she cries, cries as if she's never going to stop, and Greg holds her through it all, whispers soothing words, telling her that everything's going to be fine, that it's ok, that she should let it all out.

With fistfuls of his shirt in her hand, that's just what she does.

>*<*>*<

Greg knows that this has been coming since he walked in the door, he's just surprised that it's taken so long. He knew she was on the brink when he first held her, would also have known, even without Molly telling him, that she hadn't eaten in hours. The dark shadows under her eyes had been the dead give-away; Greg had seen those on countless occasions at Stanford, whenever Ellie had a big test and had spent all night studying, forgetting about eating and sleeping. He'd especially seen them during finals, when he would literally have to drag her out of the library to make sure that she ate and slept. During her senior year, when he was already in grad school in New York and he'd finished a week before her finals began, he'd gone back to California straight away, because he'd known the state that she'd be in. He'd found her at her regular desk in the library, and that had been the only occasion that she'd looked worse than she had when he walked in here tonight.

So he does the only thing he can, exactly what he wanted to do when he stood in Brass's office and asked for some time off. He holds her in his arms and he lets her cry, thankful that at least she's eaten something. His next job will be to get her to sleep, but at least she's already caught a few minutes. A good cry can only make it easier.

Eventually, her sobs taper off, but it takes her a few minutes longer to straighten up. When she does, she reaches up to wipe her eyes, smiles self-consciously. "I must look a state," she mutters, looking down.

Greg looks at her, looks at her hard. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes red with dark shadows underneath, and the rest of her face is blotchy, but he doesn't hesitate in his answer. "You're gorgeous," he tells her quietly, and at his words, the colour in her cheeks heightens.

"You're just saying that," she tells him, but he knows that she's pleased, can also see that she's smiling.

"Never," he says seriously, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. Using the pads of his thumbs, he wipes her tears away, forces her to look into his eyes. "I mean that Ellie… you know I mean it."

Her cheeks are hot under his hands, and she whispers his name before he leans forward, brushing his lips over hers. He intends for it to be a brief kiss, but Ellie evidently has other thoughts, her hand going to the back of his head, holding him in place, her mouth opening to his. Memory and instinct then take over for Greg, and he pulls him to her, kisses her hungrily, loses himself in her.

He comes back to himself when her hands, a doctor's hands he remembers teasing her once, deft and quick, find their way to his belt buckle, try to open it. With considerable effort, he pulls back, realises that they're lying on the couch, him on top of her, clothing in all kinds of disarray, and there's only one place that this is going to end up.

Not that he minds that.

He's just not sure that this is the best thing for her.

"Ellie," he whispers, reaching a hand up to push back her hair, noting almost absently that it's shaking. "We can't do this."

He expects her to object. He expects her to grow angry, to push him off her. He doesn’t expect her to smile, to laugh softly, but that's just what she does. "We've been here before," she reminds him, and he frowns, because she's lost him. "Spring break my freshman year… the beach…"

"Our first kiss," he remembers now, seeing the picture in his mind's eye. Except it wasn’t really, so he quickly amends, “Our first real kiss…”

She reaches up a hand, lays it on his cheek. "I'm not that girl anymore Greg," she reminds him. "I haven't been in a long time." Her hand moves around to the back of his head, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, sending shivers up and down his spine. "I know what I want…" A pause, in which she shifts against him in just the right way. "What I need…" Another pause when she does it again, and he closes his eyes, trying to conjure up any image that will block his body's reaction to her. When even the thought of Conrad Ecklie in a towering rage doesn't do that, he knows he's in real trouble.

"Ellie…" He's trying to spin out the last drop of sanity he possesses, but when she interrupts him, says his name, the moment is lost.

"Greg." Her voice is firm, yet pleading. "I just want things to be normal… just for a little while…"

As she speaks, she moves against him again, at the same time as she brings her lips to his, kisses him soundly.

When he kisses her back, he doesn't stop.

>*<*>*<

It feels like hours later that Ellie finds herself lying in her bed, a contented smile on her face. Greg lies spooned behind her, his arms around her waist, one finger tracing patterns on her stomach, her hands resting comfortably on his arms. "You ok?" he asks her as he presses a kiss to her shoulder. It's the same question he asked her earlier on, but this time, her answer is quite different.

"I'm fine," she tells him. "You?"

"I'm all right," he tells her, and she knows from the teasing tone of his voice that there's more to come in that answer. "Considering that I feel like I've just been used to satisfy your carnal urges…"

She knows he's kidding, half-turns to look him over her shoulder. "And this is different from usual how?" she asks, gratified when she sees him purse his lips, narrow his eyes in reaction.

"You're a cruel woman Eleanor," he murmurs, and she looks away from him, at the same time as she presses herself against him, eliciting a groan from him.

"That's why you love me." She throws his own words back at him, says them just as lightly as he did earlier on, but when he doesn't quip back immediately, she knows what's coming next.

"I do, you know," he says, and she closes her eyes, swallows hard. When she doesn't answer, he continues. "Love you."

"I know," she tells him, closing one hand over his, lacing their fingers together, holding them against her belly. "I love you too."

A long silence, another kiss to her shoulder. "Remind me again why we're not together?"

She grins. "Because there are no good medical schools in Vegas, and you couldn't take a Baltimore winter?" she tries, expecting at least a chuckle, receiving none.

"I'm serious," he counters, and she closes her eyes. This was not a conversation that she wanted to have right now, not like this, and certainly not today.

"I know you are Greg," she tells him, turning to face him. "But we've been here before. Lots of times. And things haven't changed…"

He nods. "Yeah… it's just… what happens if it's never the right time?"

She reaches up, smiling sadly, runs a finger along his cheek. "Then we'll always have each other," she whispers, and she knows that it's not much, that it might not be enough, but it's the best that she, that they, can do right now.

He stays still for a long moment, then nods. "OK." He closes the distance between them, kisses her again, the kind of kiss that can only lead to more, and when he rolls her onto her back, moves his hand between their bodies, she knows exactly what's going to happen and she welcomes it.

Which of course, is when the phone rings.

They freeze, and he lifts his head from where he was busily kissing a path across her chest, staring at the phone on the bedside table as if it's going to explode. She follows his gaze, and as the phone continues to ring, she looks back at him. "I should get that," she says, reaching for it, and he lets her go. Not completely though, because when she sits up, holding the phone to her right ear, his hand snakes across her stomach, rests there as he sits up beside her.

"Hello?" she says tentatively, though she knows that only a handful of people have this number.

"Ellie? Ellie, it's Mom."

"Mom?" Her mother's voice brings tears to Ellie's eyes, and Greg holds her just a little bit tighter. "How's Daddy? Is he ok? Has something happened-"

She knows she's panicking, and her mother is quick to reassure her. "He's fine… he's out of surgery, he's resting comfortably." An almost-chuckle. "He was making bad jokes when they brought him in here… I'm not sure that made the press."

"How's Josh?"

There's a long pause, then a sigh. "It could be worse… he's out of surgery, but it was touch and go for a while there… it's going to be a long haul back for him."

"But he's going… I mean, he's not going to…"

"No honey… no. They're both going to make it… Ron Butterfield was shot too, they got his hand, and there was a girl injured on the ground, but aside from that…" Her mother pauses, and Ellie can imagine her shaking her head. "We were lucky."

"What about the shooters?"

There's a pause, and when her mother speaks, she sounds strange, and Ellie's not sure why. "They were killed," she says simply, and Ellie just nods. Beside her, Greg reaches out to turn the phone receiver so that he too can hear what her mother is saying, as she continues, "And there was a signal man on the ground… we have him in custody now too. I thought that was on the news…"

Ellie can feel herself blushing, glances at Greg, her gaze a clear warning not to make a sound. "I haven't watched the last couple of hours," she admits. "Has he told them why they did it?" There's another, longer, pause, and Ellie's suddenly terrified again. "Mom? Why did they want to shoot Daddy?"

Greg's left arm slides around her waist, and he threads his fingers together so that his arms cocoon her in a protective circle. "They didn't want to shoot him," her mother finally says. "They wanted to shoot Charlie."

"Charlie?" Ellie echoes, not understanding for a moment, and then it hits her. Charlie, a twenty-two year old guy who went to the White House looking for a messenger's job and ended up becoming her father's body man. Charlie, who works outside the Oval Office every day, hours as long as her father's, for six hundred dollars a week and more than double that in headaches. Charlie, who's been dating her little sister, Zoey, for the last few months.

Charlie, who's received death threats from white supremacists who don't like the idea of a black man dating the President's daughter.

"Oh my God," she moans as the full horror hits her, and for a moment, she's sure that she's going to throw up. She has to take several deep breaths before she can talk again, and only Greg's hand making circles on her back tethers her to reality.

"Ellie?" Her mother sounds worried about her. "Ellie, honey, are you ok?"

She nods, as much for Greg's benefit as her mother's. "I'm fine Mom," she says, though she can hear the weakness in her own voice.

"Is there someone there with you?" her mother demands. "A friend, the agents?"

"The agents are outside," Ellie tells her. "And Greg's here."

There's another silence, but this one is different. "Greg?" her mother finally asks. "Greg from Stanford? Your Greg?"

The phrasing makes her smile, and when she looks across at Greg, he's smiling too. "Yes Mom," she says quietly, finding his hand with her own, squeezing it. "My Greg."

"Well, I… I mean…" Her usually competent, articulate mother is at a loss for words, something that Ellie's never been witness to before. "Honey, are you two back together?"

Ellie's looking into Greg's eyes, and he raises an eyebrow, leaving the ball in her court. "Probably not," she admits. "He just wanted to make sure I was ok."

"Oh." In that one syllable, her mother manages to convey a wealth of disappointment and confusion. "Well then… ok. Is he there with you now?"

"Yeah…" Ellie knows that her mother can't see them, and she's glad of that, but she can't quite shake the feeling that her mother still knows exactly where they are.

"Can you put him on the phone?"

Ellie shoots him a questioning look, and Greg shrugs, reaching out and tilting the mouthpiece towards him. "Hey, Mrs B," he says, as if this was an ordinary phone conversation, the kind he's had with her on more than one occasion.

"Greg." Her mother's tone is conversational. "This is a surprise."

"Yes Ma'am," he says. "How is the President?"

"He's fine, he's fine… I give him about an hour before he's terrorising the hospital staff… and about half that before he's driving me crazy…" But Ellie can hear the relief underlying the snark, and she knows Greg can too. "Is Ellie doing as well as she sounds?"

She warns him with a look to say she is, but it appears that Greg is more afraid of his mother than of her. "Probably not Ma'am," he replies.

There's a dry chuckle from the other end of the line. "You're honest… I always did like that about you." There's nothing that Greg can say to that, so he stays quiet, leaving her mother to continue with, "You're taking care of her, right?"

His eyes still locked with hers, Greg smiles. "Yes Ma'am," he says quietly. "Always."

There's a pause, then her mother says briskly, "Well, that's good then. I'm sure I'll see you soon?"

"I hope so Ma'am."

"For the eight hundredth time Greg, my name is Abbey."

"Yes Ma'am."

Ellie stifles her giggles as best she can, and once again, she can picture her mother rolling her eyes. "Fine… now, I'm sure my daughter is listening in, but can you put her back on please?"

Without another word, no further "Ma'ams", Greg tilts the receiver back towards Ellie, who says, "Hey Mom."

"I see you're in good hands," her mother observes. "Exactly how good I'm better off not knowing…"

"Mom!" Ellie yelps, and even Greg blushes at that one.

"So I'll leave you guys to it. I'll call you later on… and I think Zoey might welcome a call from her big sister too."

Ellie nods. "Tell Daddy I love him," she whispers, still more tears rising in her throat.

"I will. I love you."

"Love you too."

Then all she can hear is the dial tone, and she reaches out behind her, placing the phone blindly on the bedside table. She turns back to Greg then, buries her head in his shoulder, shaking as his hands trace patterns on her back.

When her shivers subside, she sits up, looks into his eyes again. "Thank you," she whispers, kissing him gently.

"Hey," he says, grinning as he brushes her hair back over her shoulder. "I told your Mom I'd take care of you… and I always keep my word."

Ellie smiles, brings her lips to his. "Well, you'd better start then."

They kiss, and he more than keeps his word.

>*<*>*<

In a hospital in Washington, Abbey Bartlet walks into her husband's room, and sees that he's already remonstrating with a doctor. As a doctor herself, she recognises the signs of exasperating-patient-frustration syndrome, and she steps in quickly, all the while revising her estimation of how long it's going to take her husband to drive the hospital staff up the wall.

When the doctor leaves, Jed turns his gaze on her, eyes brightening. "How are the girls?"

Abbey sits down on the bed beside him, heaving a sigh. "Zoey's with Charlie… Liz is handling it… Doug's staying home today, and they're keeping the kids off school…"

Jed nods. "That's probably best."

"That's what I said."

"And Ellie?" He sounds almost hopeful, and Abbey wishes that she'd told Ellie to call her father too, because she's pretty sure it'd never happen without her prompting. Ellie and Jed just don't have that kind of relationship.

"Ellie's handling it too," she says. And then, just because she can't resist, she leans a little closer and says, "Greg's with her."

It takes a second for the name to register; Jed's always been lousy with names. When it does, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. "Greg from college Greg? The one with the hair?"

Abbey nods. "The one and only."

Jed looks from side to side in amazement. "When… I mean… does this mean…"

"Ellie says they're probably not back together. Except that I'm pretty sure they were in bed together when I called…"

Jed squeezes his eyes shut, turns his head away. "For God's sake woman, I'm already in hospital… what more do you want from me?"

"Sorry." Except that she's not and she's pretty sure Jed knows it too.

"You think those two are ever gonna work whatever the hell it is between them out?"

She shrugs. "I don't know… I'd like to hope so."

He sighs, takes her hand in his. "Me too."


End file.
